


Showing Your Cards

by NotQuiteHydePark



Category: X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: The Animated Series
Genre: Bad Puns, Danger Room, Love Confessions, Magic, Marriage Proposal, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-14 21:48:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19281838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotQuiteHydePark/pseuds/NotQuiteHydePark
Summary: Remy makes a mistake and gets some advice.





	Showing Your Cards

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place just before X-Men Gold #30 (2018).

He can charge stuff and make stuff explode without practicing, but throwing small objects so that they land where he wants them to land? That takes practice, just like sleight of hand, and making perfect spicy eggs, and… some other things that he’s learned to do to other people’s more-than-satisfaction over the years. Some people jog every morning; some people do tai chi. Remy throws cards.

That’s what he’s doing in a de-powered Danger Room, not long after bankers and brokers have reported to work. 

“You’re up early,” Pixie says, fluttering out of her own custom workout, defeated carnivorous plants fading away behind her.

“Gambit gotta stay sharp, cherie,” the Cajun says. “Never know where de next challenge come from.”

He reaches into his fourth-best trenchcoat’s custom-sewn pockets for the next card and tosses it at the tiny square target. Boom! Bullseye.

The Danger Room gives him another target, the size and shape of a poison arrow frog, leaping menacingly, tinily, towards him. Another card: looks like the seven of diamonds. Bam! No frog.

Now there’s a spiked ball rolling in a zigzag pattern across the ceiling. Is that a laser eye inside the ball, drawing a bead on the once and future king of thieves? Doesn’t matter; Remy folds a two of hearts double and flicks it up just high enough to reach the menace. Kaboom.

Another spiked ball swings down from the ceiling, suspended on a wire, the kind used in stage plays. There are no more cards in Remy’s top left pocket, so he reaches across his ribs, into his right, and flicks the next card. Ka….squatham-hanoth-thumir?

That’s not the sound charged cards are supposed to make. It’s more what a flying demon would say. And indeed, in place of the swinging mace there’s a chartreuse thing with a beetle head, googly eyes, four bat wings, and a quill pen for a tail, circling overhead, speaking in the kind of sounds that Stephen Strange might utter. Bright green smoke is spiraling behind.

“Too early in the morning for Gambit to see dis kind of ting,” the X-Man says. He takes a step back, reaches into that right pocket again, and a card, thrown hard, spins towards the Danger Room ceiling. He’s strong, he’s got a good eye, and he’s sure this time he can hit the thing the ball has become.

The card hits the flying thing, but it doesn’t explode. Instead, there’s a chattering thing, half weasel, half squid, with teeth and tentacles, that materializes right below the bat-beetle and falls on the Danger Room’s metal-tile floor with a ghastly thump.

“They also serve who only stand and wait,” says the weasel-squid. “What seems to be the problem this fine morning?” The thing has a kind of stage-Irish accent, and drools.

At least it’s not a threat, Remy thinks.

But the bat-beetle certainly is. Remy takes out his staff and assumes a defensive pose as the bat-beetle dives in; he bonks the flying creature on the nose, then both eyes, then on its softer underside, turning the staff first crosswise, then at forty-five degrees out from his body, so he can use the end like a spear.

But the beetle keeps coming. “Maybe tird time’s de charm?” he mutters, reaching into his right pocket for the only deck he’s got. He flicks the charged card and a massive lump of oatmeal, or protoplasm, or ambiguous goo, with a faint red glow, settles down noisily between Gambit and beetle-bat. It’s a protective wall, for a second, and then resolves into a useless mound the size of a golden retriever, with one extruded tentacle holding what looks like a protoplasmic wrench.

“Maybe they only take American Express?” says Bobby from the control booth.

“What are you doin’ up at dis hour?” says Gambit? “It’s like you got a work ethic all of de sudden?”

“I work hard for the money,” Bobby says. “So you better treat me right.”

“No, seriously,” Gambit says. “Get a magic-user if dere’s one in de house.” But Illyana’s already in the control booth, and in another moment she’s in the Danger Room beside Gambit, waving her hands around and saying something that’s a mix of Old Church Slavonic and unintelligible demonic.

“Remy,” she says, both hands on her hips. “What the hell. And I do mean hell.” The lump and the bat-beetle and the squid have disappeared.

“What?” Gambit says. “What’d I do?”

“These are Tarot-of-Limbo creatures,” Illyana says. “They’re basically backup HVAC crew for X-Haven, since we don’t exactly have an Angie’s List for home repair in Limbo. You take the card with the repair creature you need and then cast a spell for what you want it to do. We kept the deck in the supply closet when we moved the school to Central Park, because…. Oh.”

Illyana in a fluffy black bathrobe has more charisma than several gallons of most people in evening wear, Gambit realizes. Not that he’s interested, or available, or that she would ever date men. Just… worth noticing, in case the X-Men could use that charisma on a mission.

She narrows her eyebrows and looks directly at Remy. “You took the cards.”

Gambit shrugs. “It Saturday morning, cherie. Gambit ran out of playing cards. Gambit not gonna practice? X-Man gotta stay in shape.”

Illyana produces a deck of Magic: The Gathering cards from a sleeve of her robe. “You can use these. I’d like the others back.”

Remy reaches into his trenchcoat and takes out the Tarot-of-Limbo deck. “Serve Gambit right for breaking into supply closet in de middle of de night, taking cards by feel and not even turning on the lights to see what I got. But a tief gotta do what a tief gotta do.” He puts the Magic deck in the coat instead. “Illyana?”

Magik turns—she’s no longer about to leave. “Remy?”

“Have you got a moment before de others show up?” He looks up at the control booth: Bobby’s gone. “If we got privacy for a moment, cherie, I’d really 'preciate just some… talk. You got some skills about facing what’s hard to face and saying what’s hard to say, whether it be a scary ting or a wonderful one, and Gambit… Gambit believe you know something about what it like to be into one person for a long time, and to wait for dat person a while. Gambit gotta tell somebody someting important, maybe real soon.”

Illyana takes a moment to realize who, and what, Gambit must be asking about. And then she’s sure. Some people have to keep secrets, she thinks, for years, across dimensions, or across continents. It’s lovely when somebody’s finally ready to say.


End file.
